BRIDIGT:

  The coldnds of the North were truly beautiful, rge mountains stretching across the pins and a gorgeous green sea behind them. The snow had thawed, leaving the nds more like a bog that turned Messiah’s white coat into looking like she rolled around in her own shit. Bridigt tugged on the Storms chain, he walked alongside her, cold and annoyed. Mason was his name, she bothered to at least learn his name as a courtesy. The Storm's clothes were already dirty and they just got more dirty as they traversed through the wet country. Atleast Bridigt had packed herself a cloak for warmth.

  The Master of Keys at the cells had done Bridigt a courtesy as to chain up Mason when they left, of course she had to slip Roger a few gold sterlings and a silver crownlet to let Mason go and say he “escaped” from the cells with his fancy sword. Travelling with a wanted criminal wasn’t what Bridigt had expected when the High Mage Caspian had given her this adventure, or travelling with a boy who was hunted by those hounds. Broxen was two days behind them, and Bckaston a few weeks infront of them. If the orphan stinks this bad, imagine how awful the stench will be in a few weeks, Bridgit thought. She knew they ought to stop at a town soon, spend a few crownlets on some comforts. Her makeshift camp wasn’t big enough for two, so she’d need to get another bedroll so the Storm wouldn’t have to spend another night sleeping on the wet ground.

  “So, where are we going? A walk in the great outdoors is nice and all but my legs are killing me, and my nerves more so.” The Storm spoke to Bridigt, she did not like that at all. His golden sword hung at her own hip, she had taken it for safekeeping after he was chained. It was stronger than steel and lighter than her own rapier, it could cut through Lothor himself she reckoned. She gazed down to his pisswater eyes, they were a dirty yellow color. His skin was tanned, for the North at least, and he had a head of thick brown hair. Comely enough, but pin to look upon.

  She simply shrugged at the Storm. “Does it matter?” Bridgit asked, her green eyes boring into his own yellow ones. Arakean yellow eyes, sometimes they were a gleaming gold like the sword, but what was an Arakean doing in the North?

  He rolled his eyes and continued waddling alongside her and her horse. Mason gave a small shiver before responding. “Yes, I'd say it very much does. We’ve been going for two days, what’s your pn here? We keep walking and hope those hounds don’t come back?”

  “You killed those hounds, remember?” She scoffed.

  Mason struggled to keep up with the horses trot, the chains around his arms and legs were slightly overkill on Bridigts behalf and she knew it but she didn’t want to take the risk of being gutted by a lowly Storm or being raped by him, all those storms were the same and she knew it. “I doubt whatever unholy, infernal shithole they came from won’t spit out another five to kill a Storm. And you’d get killed by them, girl.”

  “But you would not?” Bridigt responded by rolling her eyes, she’d sy three five beasts and be known as Bridigt the Brave, or perhaps Bridigt the Bold. Oh yes, I’d do more than fine. Especially with the Storm’s sword , Bridgit thought. She looked down towards the gleaming sword once more, sunlight in steel. How on Soren did a boy come across such a fancy bde? She pondered on this query as Messiah trotted along the snow.

  Mason shrugged in response. “I wouldn’t bet a single copper Mark on it, but I’d much rather face down those things than you.” He told her simply.

  Bridgit sneered in response. Typical man, I can fight my own battles, I don't need a damn Storm to fight them for me, a Reddy Storm at that. “Why is that? You don’t think I’d win or is it some stupid honor thing?”

  “Honors for highborn men, Storms survive.” He shrugged once more. The Storm was a sullen little prick, Bridge knew. She stayed silent in response as they rode, survival for the strong and Bridigt Lockhart was nothing if not strong.

  Out here in the heart of the High North, trees hardly grew and mountains grew too tall. The air was sharp as knives, a thousand tiny bdes slicing into the inside of her nostrils with every breath she took in, it hurt to breathe and that was a new feeling, one she did not like. Snow was falling lightly, she did not want to imagine what the trek would be like if these nds were in the heart of winter. It was but a light summer snow but that did not make her feel any better, the slight bits of snow melted upon her brow as it hit her. How long would her grand adventure in the north be? She'd need to buy new clothes if it sted until the winter but she did doubt that. Bridigt had been going since the beginning of Spring, three months of this grand year had been spent gallivanting in search of the boy in chains, who knew how much longer it would st?

  The current pn was to take the Storm to the High Mage Caspian Stirling in Bckaston, hopefully get some kind of reward before leaving and going home. Bridigt did miss home, she sometimes imagined letters to send to her father and mother, their responses back. Dear mother, father. I found him, I found the Storm. Was by luck mostly, but I wouldn’t admit that to anyone but you, especially not to Payton and Max. I don’t know if he’s the one Caspian spoke of, in truth, but the signs seem too good to be true. She missed her family, Payton and his obnoxious ugh and Maxxy with his sharp tongue, it was sharper than Arakean Steel. Max, fourteen now, a squire, by the Titans, Bridge remembered when it felt like he was half her height and now he towered over her.

  Bridigt then remembered her sister, she hardly thought about Heather these days, they were once thick as thieves, best friends along with sisters. But Heather grew older, too old to spend around her dumb little sister, Heath became more interested in the heirs to nd or the charming knights at court. It would not have been so bad if it was just that, but now she’s married to the heir to Southwatch, brave Harry Calder. She remembered the day the raven came of Lord Willis Calder arranging the marriage, and the day the raven came announcing her pregnancy to their father. It had been over half-a-year since Bridgit had seen her, the babe was not born yet but soon she’d be an aunt.

  Loud trots muffled by the snow grew louder before,“Halt! In name of the new reich.” a voice called out to the pair, and Bridigt had been sucked out of her thoughts of family. A man on horseback rode towards her, on a fast bck garron with another man behind his back on a brown one. The man in front waved the banner of House Aston, a bck ox on a field of grey with red eyes, a little corny but whatever. And the man behind waved the banner of House Harrow, a silver crescent moon over a dark ke.

  They were near Harrowstown, an uncreative name for a town but Bridigt really couldn’t call a Houses naming skill zy when her fathers nds were called the Golden Coast because of the sunrise. And what the Titans was a reich? “We’ve halted, Sir!” Bridigt called back to the men, the one who led the charge stopped his garron and stared at the maid in mail. She doubted he was a Sir, most likely an upjumped Storm who was quite skilled with a sword, but he wore pte and owned a horse so she didn’t think it wise to insult the man.

  “What’s with the d in chains?” He decred with a loud and booming voice, commanding respect with his thick Northern tone of speech. Bridigt had tried to guess this wannabe knight's background, the armor was of low quality but still pte, so she guessed he was somewhat wealthy, she presumed he was probably mercenary or bandit formerly, but he had been reduced to a small scouting man.

  Bridigt shrugged, she darted her boy in chains a gre and hoped he’d let her do the talking. Mason the Storm seemed to be smarter than the average Storm and knew how to shut his mouth. “He’s a prisoner, with a bounty of ten crownlets on his head for robbery.” She lied to the soldier, a lie that was close enough to the truth that the Titans would hopefully turn a blind eye to it.

  “I’d have half a mind to slice you down and take the prisoner by force for those crownlets.” He responded dryly, a small smile showing his cracked brown teeth appeared on his lips. You can try, but red steel would slice through that pte like it was bare flesh, Bridgit thought arrogantly “Best be on your way then, and praise the Cold Reich, southerner.” He let out a small snigger, gring at her before shooting Mason a knowing gnce.

  “Praise the Reich, snow shall fall forever upon these nds.” Mason told the man in pte, a smirk on his thin, dark lips. Some dirty Northern plot, no doubt. These pair of storms knew something she didn’t. What do they know? What is that fucking reddy Storm hiding from me? Bridgit pondered manically, her eyes darting between the men until the pair holding banners rode off.

  “What was that?” Bridgit sneered at Mason, he craned his head upwards and towards her and shrugged. “What’s the Reich? What do you know, Storm?” Her tone was haughty.

  Mason kept a smirk on his lips. “Reich, it means kingdom. I thought highborn were meant to know these things?”

  She scowled, so arrogant. His presence was insulting to her. “So? Why did you say it?” Bridigt demanded an answer.

  “Figured it was best to py along, lest not irritate the men. He looked at me like I knew what he meant, I pretend I did. I fooled you too then, m’dy.” He let out a quiet titter as they continued to walk.

  He thinks he’s so clever, smarter than me, well he’s not. No, he’s a fool, like all Storms. The pair continued to ride in the Highnds of the North, she mented on the fact that this used to be a kingdom shared with its eastern companion, the Low North, as a singur kingdom until they were divided like the rest of the Kingdoms. Was it Augustus or Cassius? She pondered. Cassius was the great one, second king after Thaddeus the Conqueror, and great grandson to the st Emperor of the Dunes. He made the Sorenic ws. But Augustus was the pious one, brought the Gods to Soren, though they never quite got as big as the Titans, poor pious fool. Definitely Cassius.

  They eventually reached a small gde, the sun was getting low. At the edge of the gde was a stone alcove, jagged rocks forming some shelter. As good a pce as any. She trotted Messiah to the alcove before dismounting.“Can you undo my shackles, I need to shit.” Mason told her with a sigh, ashamed to say it infront of a noble dy. “I won’t go anywhere, I promise, Storm’s honor.” He smirked at her, charming if not irritating. Storms have no honor, she thought.

  “How can I be sure that you won’t go sprinting the second I undo them?”

  “Well, because you have my sword, my dy. I wouldn’t be fussed if it was any sword, but that one's gold, special.” He spoke with a light Northern twinge in his voice, not so thick like other men but still mildly irritating.

  “I’d wager the sword has a sword about it, steal it?” She presumed he did steal it. “Too fancy for a Storm.” Bridigt rolled her eyes. The Order of the Sun, their Padins had these swords a thousand years ago to fight Malek’s children, the Dark Elves, it was the sword of the first men. She knew the Order was still around, wandering to spread gospel and fight the elves that survived the st genocide but they were a shell of their former self.

  “Inherited it. Last piece of my father, never knew the man but I knew his steel. Mam’ told me he bought the sword from a man who killed a Padin for a hundred Sterlings, was going to sell it for two hundred but had a liking to it.” Mason told his tale, like a proud son. It sounded to Bridigt that an Arakean merchant from the Red Dunes had fucked the Storm’s poor mother and given her a son before fleeing, why leave the sword though?

  “If I let you shit, will you stop talking about your boring father?” She got the key from her saddlebag, Roger Storm had given the key for the chains. Bridge undid the chains on his hands so he could pull down his breeches and empty his bowels into the grass like a wild animal. Mason was grinning as the shackles were loosened and came off, his wrists were marked and raw.

  “You have my thanks.” He murmured before turning to the woods, a slight pep in his steps before eventually turning into an awkward speed waddle.

  She smirked at some perverse thought of him shitting in the woods but cking a sponge and some clear water to properly clean up but he already reeked of shit so literal shit wouldn’t help the smell. Was there even a stream nearby to wash his hand if there were no leaves? “Make sure not to wipe with a nettle!” Bridgit called out with a snicker, she made the mistake before and left her sore for days, unable to ride Messiah, even a dock leaf didn’t help relieve her pain, she ended up having to squat half-naked in a stream to find some relief like some mad woman.

  Bridgit reached into her saddlebag, pulling out an apple. One side was green, the other a pale red, Tasty, Bridge though before taking a bite. Far too soft for her liking, the inside was already slightly brown since it had spent a few days bouncing around in her bag before eating. The juices were sour and sweet, but utterly dull compared to a fresh apple. Better than nothing at least so she grimaced and chewed it down.

  Messiah whined, the white mare was cheap to maintain which proved useful since a knot always formed in Brigit’s belly at night time when she thought about her coin purse for this trip. She had a pouch full of Sterlings and a few loose crownlets bouncing around Mess’s saddlebag. A few crownlets every few days to restock on a few bits of food for herself and Messiah proved enough, the mares grazing seemed to fill her up enough. “Fine, here. You’ll enjoy it more than I will.” Bridigt murmured as she fed the apple to her mount, she greedily ate the whole thing in a single snapping bite. Is that healthy? Bridgit thought before rubbing Messiah’s neck, she was the best friend a girl could ever need.

  Bridgit id out her bedroll under the alcove and began collecting dry wood, striking it off a few twigs and branches from trees with the Storm’s Sword whilst Messiah grazed. The Sword of Sunlight was the greatest weapon that she could ever hope to wield, lighter than air and faster than light, even a blind fool could best The Knight of Thorns, Sir Cassian Willow. And the Thorny Knight was the greatest man to ever grace the melee, an artist with a bde, painting with only the color of his foes blood.

  With this sword, She dreamed of being up there with the great swordsman of her time. Cassian Willow the Knight of Thorns, Owain Finnigan the Bck Wave, Bracken the Mageson, even the young Galen Leto was said to be close to becoming one of the greats of this new age.

  Mason finished his shit in the woods, walking with the exaggerated swagger of a Storm who just had the greatest shit in nature's privy. Bridigt had used her fire striker to get going a nice roaring bze. “Say, Lockhart, I’ve never heard of the Golden Coast before? Was it as shit as these highnds, and these highnds are only slightly better than the White Wastes to the east in her sister kingdom.” Mason spoke to her, in a reluctant voice as he joined her around the fire. Silence was cheap, easy but long and unnerving.

  “The Coast is nice, you can really see the suns in the morning before Solyn fades into the Arakean backdrop.” Bridigt expined. The suns, Kali and Solyn respectfully, were the givers of light and protectors of human life now that they their holy mother Alia was in the Cold Pins with the rest of the Gods, Kali and Solyn had split their souls in half to form to two suns in the sky to cast light upon the darkness that Malek had engulfed Soren in. Instead of going into exile, like their kin, Kali and Solyn rejoined their souls in the sky. “But it’s nothing like these nds here, it really is great country up here.”

  “Really? If this is the best it’s gonna’ get then life outside of the cold must suck.” Mason murmured annoyed, Bridigt raised an eyebrow.

  She was rather confused, in the few weeks that she’d spent in the High North, it was great, the people were friendly but slightly grouchy, it was cold but the views made up for it. “This is a great Northern country, better than the west.”

  “You’re a fool if you think this is Northern country, the Northerners are just fucking Southerners who went to rule over savages, and those savages … nevermind.” His voice trailed off near the end of his sentence.

  “If this isn't Northern country, then what is?” Bridigt retorted snarkily.

  Mason raised his eyes towards her before speaking. “This Storm country, built by Storms, defended by Storms, and gone to shit without the Storms. Terrible pce filled with terrible people, the fuckin’ lot o’ us.”

  “Doesn’t all of this make you proud to be a Storm?” Bridigt asked in a loud voice, she stood up and gestured to the trees and mountains. If she was a Storm in such a beautiful nd, she’d be proud.

  Mason scoffed angrily. “It's shite being a Storm! We’re the low shitstains of this kingdom, every fucking kingdom! Even if we are the backbone of most of them! Bakers, soldiers, millers, farmers, Storm, Storm, Storm, all fucking Storms! Yet no fuckin’ credit goes to them, we must bend over and let our Lord’s and Duke’s and fuckin’ kings fuck us in the arses whilst they drink and whore their way through an easy life! I couldn’t count with both hands how many times I've nearly starved, nearly been killed, had to steal to survive, seen people die that I can bloody tolerate! So no, I’m not proud to be a Storm and whoever is a fucking stupid prick who doesn’t deserve to anything more. I’d give anything, anything, not to be where every the fuck I am right now! I’d give my right hand not to be a Storm! No, proud isn’t something I’d call myself.”